


Hannibal's Visitor

by KristenRoth



Category: Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins Movies), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12943845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristenRoth/pseuds/KristenRoth
Summary: In Memphis, Clarice comes to visit the doctor once more.





	Hannibal's Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [filthybonnet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthybonnet/gifts).



Clarice winked at Hannibal, her eyes hooded and looking every bit the vixen. Pushing back the topsheet, she climbed onto the bed.

Hannibal made to remove his white sheet-like apparel…after all, who would want to share intimacies with bloody clothes on their partner? Repulsive. He began to lift his skin-tight shirt over his head…

“No.”

“No…?” How did Clarice expect him to perform with his clothes on? He looked at her quizzically, for once not understanding what was being implied.

“Leave them on, at least your shirt. I like you that way…I want all of you as you are.

“Has it occurred to you, Dr. Lecter, that what scares other people about you, what they may find repulsive…I might find attractive? Maybe it defies logic, but…I find the idea of your being so dangerous exciting. Erotic. Leave your bloody clothes on…you looking so dangerous appeals to me.”

He could smell her arousal, just like back in Baltimore…it was as if he could just grasp it out of the air. He felt a shifting in his groin, his own primal response to the pheromones she was emitting, and his brain’s signal that it was acting with or without his controlling direction.

“As you wish.”

He kicked off the white shoes under the edge of the bed, and thought for a moment…no, let her remove the pants, it would make his already raging erection all the more delightful.

Straddling her on the bed, he seized her wrists suddenly and pinned them against the pillow while she moaned blissfully. He bared his teeth at her, locking her gaze onto his face.

“You find dangerous exciting, hmm?”

“Oh yes….”

“Would you like me a little rough then? Or gentle….what would please you more? I’m at your service, Clarice, no pun intended.”

“I’ve always pictured you as the type to be rough…I would like that, I think.”

“Mmmmmm…”

He lowered his mouth quickly to her throat and grasped her flesh in his lips, biting and sucking hard until he could taste blood against his tongue. Pulling back, he noted that she was marked by a very angry looking hickey, a fitting start.

He continued around her neck until she wore a full necklace of them. Clarice gasped when he then trailed his tongue up to her ear; nipping the lobe, he whispered: “I’ve marked you now, my dear. You are mine wholly, there is no turning back now.”

His hands trailed down her blouse, swiftly undoing her buttons, ever mindful that someone could come along after the shots had rang out, and he did intend to have all of her now. There would be no stopping.

Quickly he pulled her shoes off, then reached under her bottom and pulled her slacks and panties down and away. Planting kisses with his lips, he caressed her all the way down her torso until he came to her musk.

Ah, her essence was intoxicating. The bouquet must be given its due, and he paused to inhale reverently at this most delicious scent before lowering his head between her thighs.

Clarice reacted to his hot mouth on her now bared folds as if she had been shocked. She bucked up against his face, and he grabbed her buttocks, driving his mouth deeper and not content to let her change any part of his position. She moaned and instead pushed up to meet him harder, and stayed against his mouth while he licked and sucked.

The scent he had caught through the barrier in Baltimore had promised to taste delicious, and he was not disappointed. It had made him half-mad with desire then, and was now even as he savored it.

Her juices were flowing freely soon, and as much as he would have liked to consume all she had to offer, eight years’ worth of need was setting his groin afire.

Drawing away, he moved up to massage her nipples into full erectness. They called for attention, and he brushed his wet face against them as a cat would.

“Are you ready, Clarice? I want you….”

“Oh, yes, please…”

“I would take more time, my love, but you know time could be of the essence soon.”

“Oh please, take me now,” she gasped.

He elected to leave the clothes in place; rude, he thought, but she had wished for him to. So be it. He freed himself and pushed into her very wet cleft…

…and met with a barrier. What was this? Surely she wasn’t…

He was not one to be taken by surprise, and yet couldn’t help but stare confusedly into her eyes. The question hung unsaid between them.

Finally, she answered: “Yes…”

“Oh, Clarice,” he said simply, the weight of what she was giving to him hitting him in full measure, and slighty irritated that she had fooled him yet again.”Why did you not speak sooner? This was why you wanted to have more foreplay, why you didn’t want to get into bed right away.”

“Yes; please take me…I want you, I have from the very beginning. I give you all of me.”

Feeling a small twinge of guilt, Hannibal did as she asked and pressed on, breaking through the last barrier that separated them.

Clarice let out a small sob from the pain, but smiled her triumph through her tears as she met his eyes.

Slowly he thrust, gathering her into his arms and sweeping her into a deep kiss, stroking her tongue with his. He concentrated on her mouth, put all his conscious thought into caressing away her pain as his tongue waltzed with hers in perfect step. Nature took over the rest of his being as he continued his coupling with her.

Her delight with his attentions soon dulled the pain, and in due course Clarice began to sigh her pleasure.

“Yes, Clarice, that’s right….I want to be sure you get your pleasure before I have mine. Have you ever had an orgasm before, Clarice?” he murmured as he broke away from her mouth and rested his lips against her ear.

“Yes, but…oh….only by myself…”

“You masturbated?”

“Yes…I’ve done it while thinking of you…sometimes, at night…”

“Then you know what rhythm you prefer, good. I know how best to please you now.”

With that, he scooped his hands behind her back and rolled her over him until, still joined, she was straddled across his lap.

She peered down at him then, eyes wide in shock; so strange was the image of the doctor in a compromised position that it took a moment to absorb all the implications of it.

“Only for you, Clarice. Now ride me like you would like, and I’ll meet you when the time seems right.”

He inched back and propped himself against the large pillows on the bed, another “condition” he had insisted upon. He had not required them truly, but had enjoyed making as many demands of the Senator as possible. Good thing he had, he reflected. Not only were they effective in raising him nicely to her breast level without exceptional strain, but should anyone enter, he knew he appeared less dominated that way and could quickly change the scenario to one of forcibly raping her on his lap…all he had to do was grab her by the hair and bare his teeth, showing any onlookers some very forceful thrusts. He would take the blame for the two dead officers to protect his Clarice from suffering as he had.

He remembered, and decided to take hold of her hair anyway.

“I was forgetting that you’d like me a bit ‘dangerous’, wasn’t I, hmm?” he purred. He tightened his grip.

“I have visualized fucking you, Clarice, but you take me first and I’ll please you with more rough play after, quid pro quo. Now ride me. Ride me!” he hissed, showing a bit of the ivory as the words came through clenched teeth.

Her hips undulated erotically against his pelvis, as as he raised his knees behind her to bring his thighs against her buttocks, it was all he could do to not roll his eyes back in his head from the sensation of her in the love-seat of his making.

Clarice’s breasts swayed gently in his visual field as she rocked on him, and he would not deny the urge now; clenching one in each hand, he sucked hard on each nipple until both looked red and sore. She voiced small sounds each time his lips and teeth met her skin.

He paused a moment to see how she would react to his lack of attention then. “Would you like more of that, or shall I stop?”

“Oh, please, Doctor…”

“Say my name, Clarice…say it.”

“Please, Hannibal…”

“Mmmm, yes.”

His mouth back on her breast, he began to match her rhythm with slow thrusts. She rocked faster and deeper, her breath becoming ragged as she began to moan.

“I want you to scream my name as you climax, Clarice….” and with that, he grabbed both her buttocks in a tight grip and thrust her as hard as possible.

Soon, sensing her pending orgasm, he pulled back on her hair again. Just in time too, for as her head tilted back she howled his name to the ceiling, and he was glad to not see her face just then…all the better to hold onto his control, which was being gravely tested.

Her moisture seeped into his lap, and he found it helpful to think of the physics behind the internal combustion engine to slow his heart back down…to not do so would make his own release more likely, and he did not want that right now.

“I suppose it would be redundant to ask if that felt good.”

“Oh, God……..”

“No, I’m not, but I feel like one might for making you vocalize so, Clarice. Do you still want that Other?”

“Oh….”

“I don’t mean to push, my dear, but physically you are most ready now if you do. If not, I understand perfectly, I’m not partial to it myself.”

Clarice gave a small shiver of leftover tension from the giddiness of the occasion, and made as if to dismount him. He grasped her hands quickly before she could, and met her eyes in reassurance.

“Clarice…be very sure you want this. This is going to hurt, and though that may well please you, I want you to be aware of the fact and of my intention to make this as easy as possible on you.”

Her eyes beseeched him as she spoke, “Please do it, Hannibal.”

Without another word, he slid from under her and positioned her now-relaxed body over the edge of the bed, her feet lightly on the floor.

He took in her prone form below him, so vulnerable…

…so like Margot, long ago, who could not sit while she spilled her grief to the doctor who became her saviour and friend in the face of the horror she was forced to live with in her own home…

…no. Must not think that way, not now. This was different, they were both consenting adults and Clarice wished this to happen. In the smallest part of his psyche, the one he least liked, he was forced to see that he did want this too. The gentleman, the doctor, the rational mind all fought against it, and still there it was. The truth, raw and uncensored, remains nonetheless true.

He would not deny it any longer. Checking to be sure all was at the ready, he slowly penetrated her anew; guilt at the pain he felt in her wince, undeniable pleasure at the ultimate sensation he now enjoyed.

Never had he felt such gratification, even as he indulged in what he had always considered gluttony of the worst kind. His senses overwhelmed him as he painstakingly moved in her, and he felt the rush come spinning out of control from his very core…his vision went black as his essence rushed forth, and the sensation of falling……

…and landing. Hannibal Lecter’s eyes snapped open and quickly assessed the surroundings.

He was as he had been after the guards had ushered Clarice out, exactly where he had laid down on his bed in the cell. Clarice was long gone, and a slight tilt of his head confirmed there to be no blood on his clothes.

It had all been a dream, and such an one at that. Never before had he felt the power of the sensations he had in that dream, and it made him realize for probably the thousandth time in a week that his life would never be quite the same again after having made the acquaintance of one Clarice M. Starling. He didn’t often bother with ruminating on hypothetical situations, but he knew that if the occasion came to know Clarice in private life, as he hoped to make possible, it would indeed be an experience worth having.

He flared his nostrils to try to catch one last micron of her scent in the air…and was set aback by the other odor that tickled his nose.

The musk of his own rut. He had long considered it a rude locker room odour, but the surprise at detecting it coming from himself so strongly pleased him in an odd fashion.

Never had he thought that it would happen to him.

He had had other women prior to his incarceration, true, but they were brief and passing circumstances designed to sate somewhat troublesome urges that got in the way of more stimulating exercises, such as the writing of lengthy articles for professional journals. The company that came with such happenings was often charming and amusing, but never intimate on the level that so many other people had. It simply couldn’t be, for there were none on a level with him.

Until now. Something had shifted within him, and he couldn’t quite make up his mind to celebrate it or fear it.

The dream had been most amusing. Clarice would never conduct herself in such a way, even if he were a free person right now. Nor would he attempt to defile her in such manner. But it had been astounding, nonetheless…she had been so tight…and he had never felt such an earth-shifting climax. Ever. Why, even now he could almost feel her moisture on him…how droll, he thought, grinning slightly and gazing down at his pelvic area in recollection…

…and he could see the moisture there.

Now there was a question: how had he lost so much control so fast? This had never happened to him, not even in adolescence.

This simply would not do. Not with the plans he had in store to accomplish as the evening unfolded.

The ghost of a frown on his lips, he rose evenly and switched on the tape player. Goldberg’s Variations drifted on the air as he secreted himself behind the screen, his only privacy for his makeshift bathroom.

His white pants were soaked clear through; happily, a clean dry pair hung on the towel bar beside the towel, accompanied by clean briefs. He had not neglected to ask for a clean change of clothes, and was glad of it now. Enough discourtesies found him without this being in evidence.

It was without precedent in his experience, ejaculating in his pants like a pre-pubescent schoolboy. It would be almost funny were it not for its shock value. This situation with this rubish girl was becoming high-risk, exponentially so with every passing minute. Construction of pleasant new rooms in his memory palace sometimes brought about new oubliettes too, and keeping the lid tight on one particular oubliette often went beyond his ability as it was. In his current state of being caged, it was particularly difficult to accomplish without other acceptable sensory stimulations to bolster his defenses.

Stripped of his soiled apparel, he pulled on the fresh garments. A quick rinse in the wash basin saw the infarction cleansed, and he hung the whites out to dry on the towel bar next to the clean towel.

A brief sink bath would have to do.

As he moved the cloth over his skin, the rank scent of the rutty musk hung suspended around him; he dropped to a seat on the closed lid of the toilet and leaned his head back…a door no bigger than that of a broom closet in a corner of his memory palace flew open…

…to the first time he’d experienced the smell.

The younger buck, shoulder bleeding from a gash and a large prong broken off of his rack, had still not given up the fight. He circled about twenty feet away from the elder, and sniffing the ground stopped to urinate on a small mound of pellets, quite likely that of the doe the two were rutting over.

The doe stood by disinterestedly, occasionally lifting her head from grazing or flagging her tail when one of the two would snort. She would walk a few paces on occasion, not caring whether the older buck followed or not.

Hannibal Lecter, five years old, stood still as a statue beside his father cloaked in the brush. The animals were less than forty feet away; they had come into view of them quite suddenly, and had dared not move when the cross old veteran of many rutting seasons had espied them.

Hannibal was entranced by the fighting animals, and had moved a foot out of place in his eagerness to be closer and really see.

The strong hand on his shoulder forbade him move again, as did the hiss at his ear.

“Wsst! Han! Don’t move any closer, stay right here. They will kill us if we give them a start, they’re not shy now.”

Suddenly the younger buck broke and charged, and the veteran saw him a fraction of a second too late. A loud snap as their heads collided, and the younger one gave a quick twist of his head…a prong of his rack caught the other, impaling the eye through its socket and piercing clear through to the brain.

The old buck emitted a primal scream as the new victor withdrew, blood and gore on the horn and streaming from the now crushed orb of the eye.

Shaking his head as if to clear his vision, he staggered away from the winner of the joust.

The younger deer seemed to know just what he had accomplished, and made his way close to the doe, not caring for his opponent’s position now.

She showed a renewed interest now, and he lightly pushed her a few steps at a time away from the loser.

Hannibal’s young but efficient little brain took in every scene in great detail, and was confused at first when the buck moved his muzzle close to the tail of the doe, nudging her, then snorting before he lifted his upper lip clean away from his incisors in full flemen. He rolled his eyes back, looking in the direction of his antlers, and exposed the nerve in his head, close to the olfactory bulb, to her scent.

All Hannibal could see was the deer’s seeming grin. “Father, why does it do that?” he queried in a hushed whisper. “It is as if he’s happy that he hurt the other.”

“He is, in a sense,” his father replied. “He has won the fight, and is gauging the doe’s readiness to mate by her smell, like our horses often do. You may not have seen.”

Hannibal had, but his eyes were still nonetheless wide when the buck began to lick the area under the doe’s tail, then mounted and copulated her with great gusto. Then he dropped as if nothing had happened at all, and let out a final snort before lowering his head in hopes of finding a stray acorn on the forest floor.

Man and boy were piously still as the mated pair slowly moved off into the copse of trees together.

The older buck was left to stagger about, shaking his head and bleeding profusely while he bawled mournfully. Hannibal found himself wondering just how much it could see with only one eye left.

He heard the distinctive click of the arrow being nocked to the string of his father’s recurve, and made an effort not to blink as he heard the whistle of the arrow departing the bow.

Thock as the arrow struck the buck’s lone good eye, and suddenly synapses did not complete brain messages anymore; lacking instruction, the knees of the animal buckled and he fell, never to rise again.

The father pushed his way through the brush now, moving toward the form on the ground now that the danger was removed.

“Never leave the prey to suffer endlessly,” he instructed. “Come, you’ll learn how to field dress, and we’ll have venison for supper tonight. One day you’ll do this by yourself, and in times such as these with the war and all, it may be useful to you.”

Hannibal’s maroon eyes missed nothing as the buck was strung up with a length of rope by his front legs; his arteries quickly severed, he ceased to move altogether when the blood drained out to the ground.

His father put the hunting knife to his hand, and instructed as he made the first cuts into warm flesh in his life; all the while the strong arms suspended him to where he could reach the hanging body.

Hannibal was small of stature but strong of arm as he pulled on what he was told, cutting and putting the sweetbreads into a bag for cooking later.

With the dressing-out finished, the body was rolled into a canvas for bearing back to the hunting lodge. Hannibal’s nostrils processed the scents; the meat was strong, the blood stronger, but ever he smelled the musk on the air from the ages-old ritual that had brought about the first kill he had participated in.

“Why did they have to fight that way? Do they always die?” he’d asked.

“Actually, seldom do they fight to kill. That buck was very determined to have that doe for a mate, but it was probably just an accident that he wounded this one so. But it is Nature’s way of being sure that only the strongest, best ones survive to create more. It was a bit strange, though, how adamant he was…”

Hannibal took all this in avidly, storing it for later even though he knew little at the time of what purpose it would serve…

…but he had full knowledge now.

Hannibal Lecter straightened himself then, his eyes open now and gleaming with the very fun of the idea. And he was adamant about his fun.

Clarice may have been spirited away for the time being, but soon he would have as much time as he needed, for time would be all that he would have. He would have to acquire some other things, and more time would have to pass before he could claim his mate, but he would allow for no accidents that did not serve his purposes, and the strongest would triumph.

Ah, the mating, the fucking, the heat he felt for her…he closed his eyes as his musk flared anew with the testosterone that coursed through his system. He inhaled a deep whiff…so be it then. Very soon such rudeness would go unnoticed by any but himself, and the scent was a shortcut to pleasant scenes in his memory palace that he would look at again and again, until such a time as he would see her again with no barriers in the way.

He felt sure he understood the mechanics of composition better than the ruler of yore, long gone to ash and the obscurity of time. True Love would Reign yet, almost five hundred years after Henry the Eighth’s original composition.

Goldberg’s Variations played on, such a nice regular order to set the timing of the events that he had in mind to. Timing and mood were everything, but he had ideas as to how to adjust the setting. He had been known for such ability in another time and place, and he would be again.

Footsteps poked holes through the canopy of music, intruding. Soon they were just outside the cell.

“Ready when you are, Doc.”

The exchange had begun, and without the proper level of courtesy, the clipped title clanging of mocking reference to the station society had stripped him of eight years ago.

That must be corrected; the name must be spoken with the reverence he deserved, with a proper pause after. He would change that. Always begin exchanges courteously. “Just another minute, please.”

Another intrusion on the music’s beauty: “The son of a bitch demanded a second dinner. Lamb chops, extra rare!”

Vulgar references to parentage are never the way to open a negotiation in an exchange, Sergeant Pembry. You have not been responsive to courtesy, I will bear that in mind later, the doctor noted.

“Wonder what he wants for breakfast, some damn thing from the zoo?” The mocking sneer of Boyle’s voice cut the flow of the music’s order again, disrupting the indulging of the doctor’s taste. You will get a final lesson in taste momentarily….Hannibal Lecter drew the makeshift handcuff key from his mouth and beheld it whole and unguarded between his fingers.

He stood and glided across the floor from behind the screen, the lockpick hidden between his fingers. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Okay, Doc, grab some floor, same drill as before,” Pembry demanded.

The key unseen in his hand, he slid to the floor, assuming the position and much to the liking of the guards, who enjoyed the sensation of getting such submission from the supposed infamous ‘monster’.

The monstrous olfactory sense detected the hormonal shift in the officers’ scents that came with their perceived newly found alpha status over him.

“Ready when you are, Sergeant Pembry.” His voice showed polite deference to the authority they exhibited; ah, more scent flooded forth. They were completely fooled into thinking him subjugated now, as the old stag had been by the wounded buck so long ago.

He felt the handcuffs click into place around his wrists.

And I will be just as quick, he promised himself, remembering the rush of the younger deer into his victory.

The guards entered the cage, confident now, and Boyle went to set the tray on the table.

“Mind the drawings please….thank you.”

Boyle’s attention was absorbed by the request, and he set the tray on the floor dangerously close to where the doctor sat. No one saw as the deft hands came out of the shackles, nor the unfettered state of the man still reclining against the bars on the floor.

The officer neatly rolled the drawings, which confirmed the doctor’s assessment of patterned behavior in the man. He had been taught some manners, and could likely be relied upon to trust that the prisoner was still secured after such action. His caution would be nearly absent as he reached again for the tray.

He was proved right again, as he began his rush with slapping the handcuffs over the astounded officer’s wrist.

His euphoria was fueled as he let the lid over the oubliette fly open; primal was the triumph that came with the flush of blood from the other guard’s face into his eager lips. The recoil he saw when he washed the man’s eyes with his own mace was invigorating. The rush of adrenaline was quite intoxicating, as were the urges that surged unrestrained from him now.

When finally Boyle lay dead, his brain battered past all hope, Hannibal Lecter turned to the groaning Sergeant Pembry on the floor, bitten and maced beyond being able to see his way free.

Out of the corner of his eye, the doctor noted the height of the bars, and began plotting the layout of the manner in which the man would be flayed. Hanging him by the arms like the dead stag was nicely symmetrical.

The trophy would be taken as well. The scenario was in place, and soon the fittest would not only survive but flourish.

His intended mate was at large, and much to his chagrin without him. Soon, very soon, he would correct that.

His memory palace doors swung wide, and awaited him to fill it anew.

The music played on, and so would he.


End file.
